Lady of Sin (22 page)

He knelt on one knee so his head was level with hers. He covered her hands with his, forming a little mound of warmth. “With time, as the shock passes, you will find it less devastating. I also do not think this story would reflect badly on him if all of it were known. There is no reason for you to believe you lived a lie.”

He was trying so hard to make it better that she had to smile. Her lips trembled, only half-willing to cooperate.

“My thoughts have been raining curses on you all day for starting down this road.”

“I wish I had not. It grieves me to see you so hurt.” His head dipped and he kissed her hands. “If you want to thrash me with your parasol, I promise not to resist.”

She stretched her fingers into his hair as he kept his lips pressed to her hands. The sorrow in her still wanted to curse and hate him, but she had found a peace in this sitting room that she had not expected.
Comforting, but not comfortable.

She had needed to share her distress with a friend, to confide a secret to someone who would help her regain some sense. And she had found that friend in this man.

Nor did he attempt to excuse his role in provoking her discovery. He had not said one word in his own defense. Instead he had sought to absolve another man, long dead, to whom he owed no loyalty.

He had done that for her. His only words had been ones that offered her a path to some relief.

Her heart filled with a glow so sweet, she could not bear it. She pressed a kiss to his bowed head.

He straightened and looked at her. An intense connection, raw and vital, instantly bound them. The intimacy deepened and invaded until she was helpless.

“I do not know what to do now, Nathaniel.” She referred to her discovery, and also to the emotion leaving her defenseless.

“I do.”

He rose, lifted her into his arms, and carried her from the room.

“His name is Yardley. The tutor, that is his name.”

Her words broke the long silence. He nuzzled the head resting on his shoulder and caressed the shoulder under his hand. He had removed her dress and petticoats so they would not get ruined, but he had intended no grand passion tonight.

She had been the one to initiate a slow, careful joining, one that spoke of her soul’s desire for distraction more than her body’s quest for pleasure. Now they remained bound in this embrace full of human warmth and unspoken questions.

He already knew the tutor’s name. His inquiries had borne fruit fast, but then he and Mardenford lived in a very small world.

Her head angled back so she could see his face. “You do not seem interested. I thought you would be hesitant to ask, but that you would want to know.”

“I do not care what his name is.” Not now. Not anymore.

“You could find him and learn the truth.”

“There will be no more finding and learning. The truth is that you married Mardenford and are his widow. Those letters were not explicit and you misunderstood them.”

She pushed up on her arm and gazed down at him. “You do not really believe that.”

“Here is the story I glean from those letters, Charlotte. He decided to marry you but had the decency to make sure his prior alliance permitted it. He asked his tutor to learn for certain if that woman had died, as he believed. He asked about the legalities of the alliance in any case, which means he had reason to think they were ambiguous. A foreign engagement could explain that. It did not even have to be a marriage.”

Her fingers traced a long, meandering line across his chest while she thought about that.

“So it ends here? Now? Because of this?”

“It was time to retreat anyway.” If he did not, it would only get worse.

“What about Harry? You said he was the real reason.”

“I will take care of the boy. He will not want. He will not be alone.”

She returned to his side and his embrace. “Your interpretation fits, I suppose. It is not such a bad story when seen that way.”

“I am sure I am right.”

“How are you so sure?”

“For the same reason I never thought it would be him. If you saw fit to love him, Charlotte, he could not have been a man without honor.”

She snuggled closer, then went still. He wished he could believe he had convinced her, but he knew her thoughts still dwelled on hard questions.

“I think he loved her, very much,” she whispered.

His chest knotted. There were some questions he could not talk into submission. He wished he could absorb her confusion and hurt into himself instead, to spare her. “You do not know that. There is no reason to think it.”

“There is. Not in the letters, but in a memory. I see the light in his eyes as he describes a fire dance on the Spanish coast. She was there, I am sure. She was the reason for that light. The love he felt for me was honest, but different. She was the great passion of his life.”

As you are mine.
He did not say it. This night was not about him. Such an admission had no place now, while she struggled to make her peace with what she had learned.

He just held her, so she would not be alone in the dark as she negotiated with the ghosts of the past.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

C
harlotte called at Mardenford’s house two days later. She had promised to visit Ambrose, and her heavy heart lightened while she waited at the door. Ambrose was one small part of her past that she could still count on, and she needed badly to hold his innocence for a while.

The footman’s face drained of color when he opened the door. Little beads of sweat popped up on his forehead. She waited for him to step aside. He didn’t.

“My lord is not receiving,” he finally said. His gaze sought a spot two inches beneath her eyes.

It was an odd thing to be told, and also irrelevant.

“I have come to see Ambrose. I do not require Mardenford’s attendance.”

When the footman still did not move, she tapped her parasol impatiently.

The man looked stricken. “My lady, we have been given instructions that you are not to enter.”

“You misunderstood, I am sure.”

“There is no misunderstanding. The command was very clear. You are not to enter, and you are not . . . you are not to see the child.” His mouth firmed on the last words. So did his back, as if the cruelty left him no choice but a retreat into duty.

She stared at his suddenly crisp demeanor. Her battered heart took another blow, one that stunned her.

He was serious. James had really done this.

She glanced up the facade, to the nursery windows on the fourth level. Ambrose would wonder why she had not come today as she had promised. The poor child would never understand.

“Listen to me. I am entering unless you want a scandalous scene right here that the town will talk about for months. I am not leaving until I speak with my brother-in-law, so inform him of that at once. You will now stand aside and I will wait for Mardenford in the library.”

He eyed her, to see if she meant the threat about a scene. She glared back in a display of vexation that masked the scathing pain this new loss created.

He moved aside. She sped past him and up the stairs to the library.

Whatever had caused James to issue such a strange order, she would make him change his mind. Still salving the wounds that those letters had created, she would not be able to absorb this grief as well.

James did not send a refusal to see her, but neither did he come to the library. She wondered if he planned to pretend she had not entered the house since he had decreed she should not.

She sat on a chair, determined to wait him out, impatient and agitated. James had ruined the fragile truce she had forged with her emotions while Nathaniel held her through the night two days ago.

She had emerged from that embrace still dazed but no longer so lost. A type of acceptance had begun forming. Voicing the worst of her fears had lessened the confusion.

Nathaniel had been very good to her. Very kind. He had sounded so confident that his explanation was correct. Very certain.

All night she had been certain too, and all the next day, while she sat in her chambers putting the memories back in some order. A new order, changed now. A new history and a new life, but not all that different from the old one in the important things.

Only when that was completed, only when she saw the road behind her cleared of debris, had her thoughts turned again to those letters and the alliance they revealed.

Nathaniel might be very sure he knew what had occurred, but she was not. She was still deciding if it mattered if she knew the particulars, or even the truth.

“I am expecting visitors this afternoon, Charlotte, so you will have to leave now.”

James’s voice spoke from the doorway. She turned to find him outside the library, addressing her as he passed by.

“It was good of you to take the time to throw me out yourself.”

“I was informed you would not leave until I did.”

“You were misinformed. I said I would not leave until we spoke about your command that I not visit or see Ambrose.”

“Are you threatening another scene, such as you did at the door?”

“If necessary.”

He strolled into the library but stopped a good distance from her. Head high, lids low, he gave her a critical inspection.

“The family did not want him to marry you. Bad blood, they said. A propensity for eccentricity and sin. Even your brother Laclere, who seemed fine at first. That marriage he made, and his factory in Manchester . . . They were all against it, but not me. I told him you were different. Pure and good and that you would bring no shame on the family.”

“Nor did I.”

“Not for a long time. But it seems bad blood wins out eventually.” His pose got more rigid, if that were possible. “You are having an affair with Nathaniel Knightridge and I do not want my son under the influence of a woman who has lost her reputation and her morality.”

His declaration startled her. She had no intention of lying, but she did not have to agree either.

“Why have you concluded I am having an affair, James? It is an odd accusation to make.”

He crossed his arms. It did not make him look strong, but only petulant. “He was with you on that journey. My aunt sent me word that his presence alongside you at some political meeting was noted in a county paper.”

“He was helping with the petitions.”

“He was also helping himself to your favors.”

“It is disgraceful of you to make such rude accusations.”

“He was been to your home at early hours. You have been to his at very late ones.”

“How do you know this?”

“Your Mr. Knightridge is not the only one who knows how to investigate people, Charlotte.”

Her heart skipped. She rose from her chair and advanced until she could see him very clearly. She noted the tightness in the long, sullen face, and the hot sparks in his eyes.

He knew. He had learned about Nathaniel’s inquiries. He had possibly discovered the visits to the coastal villages.

“I am sure that you are superb when you investigate, James.”

“Better than him.”

“Whom did you quiz on my movements? My servants?”

“
My
servants, Charlotte. Not yours. Mine. Just as the house is mine, and the furniture, and the coach.” He smiled slyly. “The coachman did not want to tell about your night visit to Albany, but then I reminded him who was lord of that manor.”

“So you know of my friendship. I have been very discreet, and that is no reason to close your door to me, to deny Ambrose—”

“It is not just any friendship, damn it.” He shouted suddenly. His fury exploded so unexpectedly that it startled her. “It is one that is disloyal to me, and my dead brother, and even to my son. The bastard has been asking questions about the family. About me.” He strode toward her, snarling as he spoke. “Why is he doing it? You know, I’m sure.”

She backed up when he reached her. She had never seen James really angry before. He exuded a frightening energy.

She had not intended to lie, but she did now. “I do not know. Surely you misunderstand. He is probably only curious about my relatives.”

“Curious enough to ask about my old tutor? That is a lot of curiosity regarding the relatives of a woman he is having his way with.”

“If he has been asking questions, I am sure they will stop. Very sure.” She tried to look beneath the mask of anger and find the man she knew. “It is cruel of you to separate Ambrose and me because of this. You know the child depends on me. He will never understand if I disappear from his life.”

“He is too young to dwell on it. When he is older, I will explain how you traded our love for the cheap pleasure that you found with that scoundrel.”

Our love
. It was not the words that made her heart pound, but the bitter way he spoke them.

Suddenly another part of the past rearranged itself.

She had never guessed James had those kind of feelings for her. Never suspected that the little family they had formed was all the family he wanted.

If that drove his anger as well as his worry about Nathaniel’s inquiries, she doubted she could sway him. She tried anyway.

“I am sorry you are angry, and disappointed in me. Truly, I am. Bar me from this house if you must, but let me see him. Allow his nurse to bring him to me at my house. I cannot bear the thought of losing him, James, and this will break his little heart. You are not so cruel as to require that.”

“I am not being cruel. I am being careful with my son’s upbringing and character.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

At the doorway he stopped and faced her again. A nasty contentment marked his expression. He was glad he had hurt her.

“As for his visiting at your house, you have no house. You live in one that is mine. I have decided that I want to sell it. My solicitor will call and explain it all tomorrow, but you should pack your personal property at once.”

He watched her shocked reaction at this last blow and smiled with satisfaction. Then he left her to her dismay.

“He is simply turning you out?” Bianca asked, incredulous.

“My abigail is packing even as we speak.” Charlotte said. She sat down beside Bianca on a patterned settee in Pen’s dressing room.

The meeting with the solicitor two hours ago had been just shy of insulting. The man had not only informed her of Mardenford’s decree but had quizzed her about the furniture and objects, taking inventory.

If he expected her to haggle, he had been disappointed. She would remove what was hers, clear and free. Later, she would send her own solicitor to embark on the unseemly task of settling the rest.

Rather than watch the packing, she had kept an appointment to meet Bianca at Pen’s house to help choose her sister’s wedding garments. Pen now stood with a yellow silk dress in her arms. A decision on the dress had been forgotten as soon as Charlotte entered the dressing room and impulsively blurted her news.

“You must come live with us,” Bianca said. “At least until you make other arrangements.”

“Thank you. I may have to accept but I do not want to. It is not that I question my welcome. I would feel like a girl again, returned to my childhood.”

“Nonsense. Pen lived with us for a spell last year and she was not reduced to childlike dependency.”

Charlotte caught Pen’s eye. They exchanged a tacit acknowledgment of the disagreeable aspects of any dependency.

“Bianca, she is referring to Laclere, not financial matters,” Pen said gently. “You know how he can be. I am his older sister and he still wanted to manage and protect. Charl is so much younger and he may not be as . . . accommodating with her.”

Bianca turned thoughtful. She gazed down at the pattern on the upholstered seat of the settee and weighed that problem.

“Yes, I can see what you mean. Also, Laclere was very sure of Hampton, but wonders a bit about Mr. Knightridge.”

Pen’s brow furrowed. “What has Mr. Knightridge to do with this?”

“Oh, he is Charl’s lover now.”

Pen laughed. “That is a rare joke, Bianca.” She began fussing with the yellow dress again. “Charl and Knightridge. Goodness, they can barely stand the sight of each other.”

Bianca laughed too, carefully.

Pen laid the dress down. As she turned to the wardrobe for another choice, she shot Charlotte and Bianca a merry glance and grin. The outrageous suggestion of an affair with Nathaniel still amused her.

Charl tried to appear bland. Pen quickly assessed her studied passivity, and then Bianca’s wide-eyed innocence.

She froze. Her face fell in shock. “Good heavens, is it true? You have a liaison with Knightridge?”

“I apologize for my indiscretion, Charl,” Bianca said. “However, what fun is an affair if your best friends don’t know?”

“You told Bianca and did not tell me?” Pen asked, looking hurt.

“I told no one. Bianca is guessing.”

“Hardly guessing. It is mere luck that Laclere and I did not walk in and find you—”

“You are still guessing.”

“My guess is you do not want to live with us because of what cannot happen there with the discretion you would like. Although midmorning in a library is hardly discreet, if you want my opin—”

“What I would like is to avoid having my big brother lecturing a certain friend on honorable intentions and whatnot. That is inappropriate and unfair.”

Pen and Bianca exchanged quick looks.

Pen bit her lower lip, but Bianca had never been known to swallow frank questions. “Unfair? Charl, dear, are you saying there have been discussions regarding honorable intentions?”

“All I have said since entering this room is that I no longer have a house. Now, the problem I face is where I will live tomorrow, and how I will arrange to see Ambrose.”

That turned them back to matters of substance.

“You will stay here, of course,” Pen said. “In two days I leave for the coast, and when I return I will be living at Russell Square. This is not even a third as grand as your current home, but it has served me well over the years.”

“Laclere will continue to maintain it, I am certain,” Bianca added.

“I will not need his help. I am not destitute, just homeless at the moment. My settlement contained enough for me to live in style even without Mardenford’s assistance.”